


Problematic Emotionality

by Je_Suis_Une_Pomme



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, boldly bending canon to suit my needs, boldly making up aliens, emotional wrestling, even if it isn't always realized by the piner, lots of mutual pining, starfleet kinda made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Je_Suis_Une_Pomme/pseuds/Je_Suis_Une_Pomme
Summary: “I assure you, Admiral, there is no weight in the tabloids’ speculations,” he tried to smile, but it faltered under the collective scrutiny peering down at him. He felt small standing before their wavering projections.“Then, explain again how your First Officer managed to offend an entire planet of people, who would have made a very advantageous ally to the Federation, and a very bad enemy? Your First Officer, upon realizing the mistranslation that had taken place, proceeded to claim you as his mate and draw his weapon on an otherwise peaceful species!”-A story about a mistranslation, an overprotective First Officer, wrestling with romantic emotions, and happy endings.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 39
Kudos: 315





	Problematic Emotionality

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a light-hearted, hopefully humorous fic (and much shorter than it turned out to be)… but our boy James T. Kirk can fit so much turmoil in him, I decided he could have a little bit more… yanno, as a treat. 
> 
> I was afraid to dive into writing for Star Trek, since it's been around for so long and its fans are passionate... I kinda consider AOS to be big-budget fanfic, and since those are the character I imagined while writing, I figured anything else I had to say couldn't be worse than that. As I am not well-versed enough in all of the ways that is canon for ST, so I made most of it up - from the leadership, to how it functions, to the planet that Spock’s POV takes place on, to the alien-life. So, please forgive me the inaccuracies if such things offend your sensibilities. 
> 
> One final note, in case I did not make it clear: Jim’s POV is present day, Spock is in the past. 

Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Self-proclaimed charming bastard, rumoured to be willing to sleep with anyone that laughed at his jokes, and willing to seriously consider, through vigorous application process, those who did not (“do you want to have sex? y/n, circle one and present to one James T. Kirk at your earliest convenience”). 

He never stayed with the same person long enough to establish any sort of emotional connection and, when asked about any future plans to be tied down he would laugh, smile, and say he was already married. He was married to the Federation, Starfleet, the Mission, his ship, and, if feeling particularly sentimental, he would say he was married to his crew. And, he'd add with a dazzling smile, that ship he mentioned? She was the jealous type. 

There was no room for sentimental emotionality in his carefully planned, strictly organized, military-style life that he took to like a Vulcan to Plomeek soup.

He'd heard the rumours, of course. They were hard to avoid. Any time he was planetside and the press caught a particularly candid photo featuring him and his First Officer, the gossip mags would go crazy, splashing variations of the same headline across the newstands: _Scandal in the Federation! Is Starfleet’s Captain J. T. Kirk sleeping with his First Officer?_

The answer was, logically, no. And Spock never said anything about dissuading the press from their opinions, so Jim grinned whenever directly asked and advised, "no comment." The Federation was of the opinion, much to Jim's dismay, that any press could be good press. And while Starfleet Command did not necessarily approve of the content of the rumours, or of some of Jim’s "wild political opinions", they were quite happy to be the centre of as many conversations as they could worm their way into. Talk meant an increase in recruitment. 

However, he often wondered if Starfleet only put up with him and his not-entirely-clean past and less-than-regulation-standard career because of his impressive reputation of being easy-going and well-liked by the alien species that _Enterprise_ came into contact with during her voyages. He also wondered exactly how much of it had to do with his extremely skilled crew in comparison to his dazzling, straight teeth that photographed well. He had no doubt, if roles were reversed and he was sitting in the Ivory Tower that was Starfleet Command and some other, young, audacious schmuck was captaining the flagship _Enterprise_ , he’d have yanked them from their post a long time ago. If he were to cite every regulation he himself had bent or outright broken, he’d probably end up going through much of the book. 

This did not mean he did not get dressed-down from the powers-that-be on a regular occasion. 

He had sworn to himself not to be intimidated by a group of holograms in his own Ready Room, but it was hard to maintain his rigid posture under the weight of all the frowns directed at him.

“We appreciate that rumours are just words, Captain, but we are now inquiring whether or not there is truth in them in response to your most recent mission to the planet currently known as Upsilon VII.” Admiral Fraser held the deepest frown out of the group, though Jim wondered if some of it was merely a symptom of resting-bitch-face. 

“I assure you, Admiral, there is no weight in the tabloids’ speculations,” he tried to smile, but it faltered under the collective scrutiny peering down at him. He felt small standing before their wavering projections. 

“Then, explain again how your First Officer managed to offend an entire planet of people, who would have made a very advantageous ally to the Federation, and a very bad enemy?” 

“I, again, offer my apologies. I was not aware the translation of _friendship_ in Standard meant something entirely different in the Mantodean language-”

“So then it was the fault of your Communications Officer?” 

“No,” Jim ground his teeth and did not say, _‘it was the fault of you giving my crew less than 72 hours to prepare for political negotiations with a relatively unknown race and complex language_ ,’ and instead said, “you are right, sir, the fault is of course my own.” He had poured over every single communique from Starfleet and the Federation, and none mentioned the cultural significance of offering friendship. There were no warnings that there was, perhaps, a chance for a misunderstanding as great as what had taken place. 

Of course, he could voice none of this. 

"We were fortunate that we were able to convince the Mantodeans to sit at another meeting, provided yourself and the entire crew of the Enterprise are not present.” Jim heard the hiss of the doors opening behind him, "Your First Officer - ah, there he is now."

Jim turned to watch Spock enter the room. His shoulders were pulled into a straight line, his expression carefully neutral. He came to rest next to Jim, offered him a single quirked eyebrow, before turning his attention to the panel of Starfleet Command flickering before them. 

"Admirals," he greeted, inclining his head minutely. He looked remarkably well composed, which, Jim supposed, was all well and good for a Vulcan. The seemingly-relaxed nature of Spock’s posture did not match the anxiety that was crawling up his own spine. 

“Mr. Spock,” said Admiral Kauffman without preamble, “we were just discussing the incident on Upsilon VII and your role in the events that took place.”

“That is logical,” Spock said evenly, “I believe my actions are the root of the Federation’s current discomfort.” 

Kauffman hummed and sat back in his chair, his holographic projection flickering out of focus for a moment, “we would appreciate your own thoughts on what took place.”

“Sir,” Spock said, “you are able to read my full account in the formal report that I submitted within Starfleet’s standard deviation of time post returning from a mission.” 

“We have read your report,” sighed Fraser, glancing towards Kauffman before continuing, “what it seemed to lack was the reasoning for your specific reaction.”

“Please clarify.”

“Mr. Spock,” Fraser sat forward, scowling deeper now than he had been a moment ago - something Jim thought would have been impossible. “Upon realizing the mistranslation that had taken place, you proceeded to claim your Captain as your _mate_ and drew your weapon on an otherwise peaceful species.” 

Jim glanced at Spock and was startled to see the tips of his ears darkening in colour.

“Lieutenant Uhura had attempted to communicate the unfortunate mistranslation; however, her words were not heeded,” Spock paused. “It was the only logical course of action in order to protect the Captain; the motivations of the aliens at that point in time were unknown and I calculated the possibility for a hostile action higher than acceptable limits.” 

Fraser scoffed and Admiral Wharton hid a chuckle behind a cough, forcing her smile back into a frown. 

“This debacle,” Fraser continued, “has put Starfleet and the Federation in a peculiar position - one we would have rather avoided. The Mantodean home world is located in a very advantageous position and holds an abundance of resources not readily found on any other Federation planet. Should they catch wind that you two are not, indeed, ‘ _friends’_ , it could jeopardize the shreds of alliance we have struggled to regain.”

Jim’s eyes snapped to Fraser in panic, “Sir, are you suggesting that we pretend to be married?”

“I am suggesting that you keep your mouths shut and stay out of trouble,” Fraser said, pointing an accusing finger down at the both of them. “At the very least until negotiations are settled and the Mantodeans are official members of the Federation.”

"Captain," Whatron said gently, her forced frown wavering, not entirely hiding the smile she would have likely preferred to offer. "It has been recommended that the Enterprise remain docked at Starbase 3 until such negotiations are concluded," she held up her hand to stall the very loud objections Jim began to sputter. "We already contacted the USS Ambition to divert to Upsilon VII and prepare for renegotiations. If all goes well, you will be back in space in a few weeks.” 

“What are we to do with ourselves until that time?” Jim frowned.

“Consider yourself and your crew on shore leave effective immediately upon arrival at Starbase,” Kauffman nodded once, glanced at the others on either side of him and stood, his hologram flickering and then blinking out of existence. The rest of the projected Starfleet Council zapped out of the room one by one and Jim took an extra minute to gather himself before also turning to leave in a daze.

“Captain,” Spock cleared his throat and Jim startled to realize he’d forgotten he was in the room with him still. “I wish to further extend my apologies. I did not calculate the outcome of my actions outside of the present moment when they occurred. I have put you and the crew of the Enterprise into a situation which-”

“Spock,” Jim reached out to clap his hand on Spock’s bicep, “forced shore leave is not the worst thing to happen to me. Besides, the crew could use a break.”

“That is not entirely all that I am referencing,” Spock said, eyebrows drawing together. “My actions have affected _you_ in a personal way. I can only conjecture what the tabloids will report should they receive word of this.”

“Are you worried about the gossip-mill, Mr. Spock?” Jim squeezed his arm before releasing him, dropping his hand to his side. Spock shifted his weight and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“No,” Spock frowned further, “worry is not an emotion that I experience,” he said logically. Jim rolled his eyes fondly and turned again to leave. 

=//\\\=

Upsilon VII was much more grey than either Earth or Old Vulcan. However, the natural rock formations were as large and magnificent as they were fascinating; privately, Spock hoped there would be opportunity to take a closer look once their brief visit to the planetside and negotiations were concluded. 

He turned to the Captain to point out a tall spire, resembling a crooked finger in the way it reached skyward, but found him to be engrossed in last minute cultural lessons with Lieutenant Uhura.

Information that Spock found quite simple to memorize, the Captain struggled with. He often required frivolous treats and rewards just to encourage a focused mind; he always wrote a plethora of notes in the old Terran way in an attempt to have information he otherwise found quite dull to stick in his brain. While a genius he was, it was not without much work on the Captain's part. His boundless energy was difficult to rein in, even for the Captain himself. 

He recognized he was staring, but it was nearly impossible to look away as the Captain chewed absently on the end of his stylus. He wanted to point out that the action was illogical, but the look of intense concentration gave him pause enough to swallow the impulse. 

"...So I must make sure to greet leadership with my right hand, unless those present are of the mid-caste or lower, then I use my left hand… right?" 

"Correct, Captain," Uhura leaned over the PADD between them and swiped to another page. "I know you're going to ask me again how to tell one social standing from another - I've bookmarked the page for you."

"Thank you."

"I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much about it when we get there. Only those in positions of high ranking leadership are scheduled to meet us at the shuttle - other than servants, which you do not greet." 

The Captain sighed heavily and forcefully pushed back into his seat with a soft _whump_ , running a hand through his hair.

Uhura continued, "I know that does not sit right with you, Captain."

"We just have to get through the next few days without incident. We can approach these delicate social situations more with the Federation once they are members." The Captain did not sound convinced of his own words and frowned deeply, still chewing on the stylus, but his eyes were focused on a spot somewhere on the roof of the shuttle. Spock glanced away to check if anything was there - there was not. The Captain sighed again and Spock forced his gaze back to his window. 

The grand rock formations had now given way to more flat terrain. There were now the appearance of fabricated structures, living establishments and buildings for industry, Spock expected. They were few and far between, separated by patches of land that had been prepared to encourage the growth of sustenance. The closer to the city they flew, the nearer the buildings grew until there were no more large patches of earth between structures, and instead there were tightly packed living quarters, taller in height, not dissimilar to the skyscrapers of Earth. 

The shuttle jerked and Spock could feel the landing gear engage; they banked hard to the side and Spock gripped the arms of his seat tightly as his view suddenly shifted away and he could see only the sky. A warm hand pressed on his wrist and he looked over to see the Captain reaching across the aisle. 

“It’s okay,” he smiled; Spock wished to convey that fear was illogical, but he was distracted by the startlingly clear shade of blue that blinked confidently back at him. The Captain squeezed his wrist once before retracting his hand and the moment passed before anything else could be said. Spock stared at this sleeve for 8.25 seconds more, until the shuttle righted itself and he could feel it dropping in its descent. 

The actual landing of the shuttle was uneventful as was their disembark. Spock watched as the Captain was ushered to exit first, then waited for the rest of the landing crew to follow him before he stood from his seat. The bright light from the primary star accosted him and he raised his hand to shield his eyes from it. The air was warm and not unpleasant. 

“Commander!” Spock turned, the Captain was waving him over to a small group of aliens nearby. “There you are, come, this is Chancellor K’tahk and their closest advisors,” Spock made his way toward them and held his right hand up in the Ta’al in greeting. “This is my First Officer, Commander Spock,” the Captain continued happily, “he is essential to myself and the crew of the Enterprise.” 

The aliens spoke together as the translation was made and one eventually voiced, “we believe we understand the sentiment, Captain.”

The aliens, temporarily named Mantodeans due to their overwhelming resemblance to Terran insects, did not distinguish between male and female as humans or vulcans. They were curious; two large, lamp-like eyes sat in the middle of their face, their colours different from being-to-being in variations of cool-toned shades. There was no discernible nose, and their mouths were covered by armored mandible-like pieces that quivered and clicked when they spoke. They were taller than the average human, their hands had only three fingers and an opposable thumb, with no nails. Their chests were wide, barrel-like, and very narrow mid-sections that gave way to wider hips and pelvis. Their knees were similar to humans, though they appeared to not have the same level of flexibility. 

The aliens in front of them had their bald heads adorned with shining jewelry that hung in loops of varying lengths, some long enough to brush the tops of their wide shoulders. Their clothing consisted of simple, light-coloured robes, left open to reveal their dark, bare bodies beneath without shame. The centremost being, K’tahk, wore lilac robes that were adorned with intricate patterns made of shining thread in golds and silver. 

There were other aliens, presumably the servants, without clothing that worked around them, keeping much lower to the ground as if to avoid observation. Spock did his best not to pay them any mind as they gathered luggage and tended to other services wordlessly. 

“Greetings, Vulcan, and welcome,” his translator warbled; the actual words spoken to him were gutterel and harsh on the ear; he inclined his head in thanks. The alien that had spoken returned their attention to the Captain. “Please, Captain, we would like to show you where you will be staying here in -” the translator struggled to find a Standard equivalent for the name of the city “- you must wish to rest after your travels.”

“Thank you, that would be most welcome,” the Captain replied to the alien, maintaining eye contact, and Uhura did her best to translate for him stumbling over some of the more unfamiliar sounds in her mouth. The alien seemed pleased and accepted this response before turning to lead the way out of the shuttle-dock.

Their quarters for the duration of their stay were in the traditional Mantodean open-air style cluster of rooms beneath a shared flat-stoned roof. Columns and heavy tapestries divided the sleeping spaces from each other, clearly constructed for the comfort of the crew of the Enterprise rather than out of normal social practice on the planet. The aliens here appeared to be most comfortable functioning communally, even with other members of social standings blending together; though, their roles in society greatly differed depending on the status of the being. They would be fascinating to observe more closely if Spock was ever afforded the time to such research.

“‘You going to be okay?” Spock paused, his hand holding back the curtain to his appointed space; he turned to see the Captain standing behind him, shifting his weight from foot to foot, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Affirmative, Captain,” he dropped his hand and turned fully, eyebrow raising, “I feel I must now also inquire as to your wellbeing for the remainder of the evening…?” 

The Captain laughed and Spock refused to acknowledge the way the beat in his side increased in speed. “I’ll be okay,” he was saying, “I just know this isn’t the most… private of spaces and I know you value that. We won’t be here for very long if you can manage it.”

“I foresee no issues,” Spock said, allowing the corners of his mouth to lift minutely; it had the desired effect - the Captain’s face lit up in a face-splitting grin. 

“Glad to hear it,” he slapped a hand on Spock’s shoulder good naturedly. “Well, I’m just next door if you need anything,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the next curtain, still tied back with gold-tasseled rope; a servant hovering nearby with a tray of refreshments. 

Spock noted that the Captain did not check on the others from their landing party in the same capacity. 

=//\\\=

It was four days post-grounding that Jim finally allowed himself to wander to the Enterprise. He’d forced the distance upon himself until his rather incongruous desire to kidnap his ship and her crew and take off back into the black against orders had been wrestled into submission. 

The majority of the crew had happily accepted the sudden leave and the offered shuttles planetside without question, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, though a few, like himself and presumably his First Officer, still remained on the station. There was little to distract him from the near insatiable itch to warp far away, especially with Bones still on previously scheduled shore leave on Earth and Spock ignoring all of his personal messages to ‘come outside and play.’ In the absence of work to do or friends to entertain him, he’d taken up binge-watching old Terran television shows, studying antiquated 20th-century theoretical physics concepts, and his evenings he filled by overindulging in alcohol at a bar not far from his quarters on the station. 

There was the potential to relieve his pent-up energy sexually, but the idea did not appeal to him as it once had. He nearly gave in when a brunette with a blunt haircut, practically made entirely of legs, had approached him, all severe angles and wicked sense of humour. Her dark eyes were enough to give Jim pause to consider, her mouth twisted in a coy smile. She had left him alone after her second attempt at a thinly-veiled suggestion to leave the bar together was met with a change in subject. It felt too close to cheating on his ship. 

Maybe Jim should have left with her… He thought of her lips on his, long-fingered hands roaming across the planes of his abdomen; he’d lean up into a hungry kiss and then the name that flashed across his mind made him break away from the fantasy entirely, realizing that it probably had been for the best.

He was not sure why he was surprised, upon exiting the lift to the viewing platforms, to see his Chief Engineer leaning against the railing in front of the large window overlooking the Space Dock.

“How’s our ship, Mr. Scott?” 

“Ah, Captain,” Scotty turned, a warm smile spreading across his face in greeting. The Enterprise was laid out below them, heavy docking-arms cradling her and keeping her firmly locked in place. “She’s well on her way to being righ’ as rain.” Scotty rubbed at his chin in thought. “I have to say though, sir, that nothing groundbreaking is happening here. Much of the repairs my team and I could have managed on our own while still in space. Sure, we may have needed a part or two shuttled to us, but we did not have such extreme need to require a dry dock for repairs.” 

“No upgrades to install?” Jim asked, “colour me surprised, Scotty.” 

The Engineer shrugged, palms out and fingers splayed, “If you don’t mind my being blunt abou’ bending regulations, sir, but any upgrades I’ve got planned,” he tapped a finger to his temple, “I’d much rather do myself without Starfleet Command breathing down my neck.”

“Fair enough,” Jim laughed. 

“Not that that’s stopped Mr. Spock,” Scotty continued and Jim stiffened, turning to lean his hip on the railing and giving the engineer his full attention, “I have to wonder if he is trying to fly somethin’ under the radar, what with his obsessive tinkering as of late - of course, all his requests have been standard-issue, so I’ve seen no reason to dig any further.”

“Spock has been here?”

“Oh, aye,” Scotty’s brow furrowed, “I would have thought you knew, Captain. He’s been here just about every morning, stalking about in the labs with a small crew of Starbase technicians - he’s come to me a few times with questions - most benign, from what I can gather. He said something about improving energy efficiency and rattlin’ off percentages he’d calculated, no doubt to the millionth decimal point.” Scotty peered at him, “have you not seen him, sir?”

“No,” Jim trailed off, looking out again to his ship. He was beginning to consider ordering Spock to meet with him - but for that, he’d need some sort of excuse so he would have no choice but to accept. It stung, though, now faced with hard evidence that his First Officer was definitely avoiding him. 

“He’ll more than likely be back tomorrow morning,” Scotty was saying and Jim forced himself to refocus.

“What time do you think?” he heard himself ask.

“Oh, he’s been here, uniform pressed and boots shinin’, regularly at 0500 hours, sir, sometimes earlier.”

“That early?” Jim felt his eyebrows raise, “and you see him? Personally, I mean? Have you taken any time for yourself since we docked, Lieutenant-Commander?” 

“Oh, ach,” Scotty waved at the air, “you cannae blame me, Captain. My girl is essentially stuck in the medbay - I won’t leave her here alone.” 

Jim felt he should demand the engineer find some time away from the ship, perhaps take a shuttle down to the planet for some true leave, but he knew if anyone could challenge his claim to being married to the Enterprise, it would be Scotty. And like any marriage, in sickness and in health, he could not find it in his heart to separate the two. He smiled instead and said, “so long as you are not exhausting yourself…” Scotty shook his head and offered two thumbs up. 

“All is well and fine for me, sir,” he said. 

Jim nodded and took his leave of his engineer, wandering further down the observation deck. He would return another morning and hopefully corner his First. It felt strange to be apart from him for so many days when they were both still apparently present on the same starbase. He’d half assumed Spock’s silence meant he had perhaps gone planetside for some much-deserved rest. He could not deny the pang of hurt he’d experienced when he thought Spock might leave without saying anything to him. Taking leave at all, for Spock, was also unusual. No matter how many times he cast his memory back, he could not recall Spock mentioning any plans planetside or otherwise upcoming, and now knowing he definitely remained on the starbase… 

He’d come to rely so heavily on their friendship. The keen sense of loss that came along with Spock ignoring his calls was nearly overwhelming. He could not fathom what was going on inside Spock’s mind to be keeping Jim at arm’s length. Until recently, they had often shared evening meals together before retiring to one of their respective quarters for a game of chess and conversation that often went long into the Gamma Shift. He missed that. He had assumed it would continue should they be off duty together, and now he faltered, considering that, maybe, their friendship was strictly professional.

A stone dropped into his stomach and he paused to breathe deeply until the sensation faded. 

Had he done something to offend Spock?

The trip from Upsilon VII had been without incident - three days at Warp 6 and plenty of paperwork to keep himself - and his Commander - occupied until they docked. They had sparred together one afternoon, as they often did, and were joined by several other officers who had hoped to take on the formidable Mr. Spock. Jim had only gone a single round before he left the others to it, already sweaty and bruised and with a mountain of work large enough to pull him away from hanging around to spectate. There had been no evening meals or chess games during the trip - there had been no time. And then he’d submitted his report from the events that took place on Upsilon VII and had been hailed by Starfleet Command only a few short hours from Spaceport - which he had anticipated.

This all seemed normal. Perhaps he had done something inappropriate while planetside? 

It had been startling to slowly be pulled from a deep, contented sleep, and not recognize the ceiling above him; but, after reminding himself he was planetside, he calmed and then was frozen again in uncertainty when he turned onto his side and was staring down his Vulcan First Officer. Spock was sitting next to the sleeping mat, fingers steepled in front of his face as he often did when meditating, only his eyes were open and staring back at Jim. Morning light was streaming in through the cracks of the heavy drapery that made up the room's walls, bird-like creatures singing as the sun rose. The morning meal would no doubt be happening soon.

He had not allowed himself to soak up and relish the sensation of waking in Spock’s bed, and instead sat bolt upright with profuse apologies spilling from his lips like the bursting of a dam after heavy rainfall. Spock had only offered a raised eyebrow and, maybe, hopefully, a very near half-smile and said it was no matter, he was happy that Jim had been able to rest so easily in his company. Jim’s heart swelled and he wrestled it back into submission as he pulled on his boots and ducked out of the room for his own before anyone else would be awake to notice.

They had not discussed it further, and he discarded this incident as the cause of Spock’s distance. 

He could not help but wonder, then, if the situation had everything to do with Spock’s own actions during negotiations. The stone returned to his belly, but as ice, and he stopped to grip the railing and peer down at his ship. The consequence of his Commander’s actions had grounded them, but Jim himself had broken more rules and landed them in hotter water than this. He was not nearly as concerned by this temporary grounding than perhaps he should be - they would be back in the black before long, where it would much easier to lick at the wounds caused by failing a simple diplomatic mission. But Spock practically bathed in regulation, and to be the one to bend and break rules of his own volition, perhaps so severely without prompting from Jim, may be what was bothering him… 

Was he ashamed? 

Before he could contemplate the thought and process the nervous-sick feeling that came along with it, his communicator chirped and he flipped it out.

“Kirk here.”

“Jimmy boy!” The gruff voice that greeted him was such a welcome sound Jim could not contain the bubble of laughter that erupted. 

“Bones!” 

“Hey, kid, listen - this whole base is a fuckin’ perplexus. I think I’m standing in front of your door, but you don’t appear to be here.”

“You’re here?” he froze, “I thought you were still planetside for another two days!” 

“I caught an earlier shuttle,” Bones said and repeated, “where are you?”

“I’m up by the docks - but stay there, I’ll come to you! Kirk out.”

Jim saw McCoy before the doctor saw him and he surprised him with a rib-crushing hug that was met with a colourful curse before being returned full-force. The cranky doctor was a happy surprise - he’d missed him. He’d taken leave just before the Enterprise shipped out to Upsilon VII to spend time with his daughter. And while Dr. Warner had been an excellent replacement, with an admittedly much friendlier disposition than he was willing to admit to his friend right now, he was happy to have Bones back. 

“We’re grounded here on leave for at least another week, Bones, you could have stayed with Jo! How is she?” 

“Ah,” the doctor pulled himself out of the embrace, but his hands remained clasped on Jim’s biceps. “She’s good, brilliant. I dropped her off at summer camp yesterday morning; there was little else keeping me there, so I caught earlier transport.” He looked good - well rested and smiling. It had been a long time since Jim had seen the absence of heavy bags beneath the doctor’s eyes.

“You didn’t have to - I’m sure you could have happily filled your time lazing in the sun, sipping mint juleps and being trouble-free for a few more days.” 

“You and that pointy-eared bastard of yours sure do spell trouble for me,” McCoy groused, finally releasing Jim and rubbing his forehead in a very dramatic display of displeasure. “Speaking of which, that’s one reason why I’m here. I saw the report from Upsilon VII - the official one, at least. Uhura filled me in on the rest.” 

“Ah,” Jim sighed, “we better go inside for this.” He moved to unlock his door, finally, and ushered the doctor inside. 

“What on earth happened, Jim?” McCoy flopped onto the tiny loveseat, the only seating in the room aside from the hard chair tucked under the desk beside the bed, leaving Jim to lean against the Holovid console, folding his arms over his chest.

“Well, Spock saved me from becoming the property of a somewhat-eager Mantodean.” He hugged himself tighter at McCoy’s raised eyebrow. He considered, briefly, why everyone commented on Spock’s ability to arch a brow when the good doctor himself also had it down to a fine art. Jim would never admit outside of his private thoughts that he wished he could do the same, and had practiced in front of a mirror, but only ever resulted in looking vaguely surprised - or constipated. 

McCoy scoffed, “while I don’t doubt that was the result, that’s not exactly how Uhura explained it.” 

“And what did Uhura say?” 

"She described a rather aggressive display of ownership in the face of mistranslation - the result of a hairbrained suggestion on your part." 

“That’s not entirely true,” Jim uncrossed his arms, “it wasn’t like it was spelled out for us what _friendship_ meant to them.” he recrossed them. He much preferred the illusion of safety they afforded him; protection against the unfurling desire to bear uncomfortable truths. His crossed arms could keep inside the secrets that he had buried, they could not get out if he would not let them. 

He had, hopefully, given the impression to Spock that he was unconcerned about what the tabloids would print should they catch wind of their failed mission. Inside, his gut was an alarming knot of agitated anxiety. Normally, he found he did not mind what rumours that ran rampant, as he was often the primary subject of such ridiculous stories, Spock merely a backdrop on which they were painted. But, this felt different. This mission, and whatever salacious speculations would come from it, was wholly different in that whatever could be, would be, splashed across newsstands would have a grain of truth to it. Stories of impassioned romantic trysts and stolen moments in darkest corners of the Enterprise, hints at dramatic heartbreak and unfaithful marriages were easy to laugh away when nothing of the sort took place. He would much rather face fantastical fables alone than drag Spock into any potential looming drama that hit much closer to home than he would like - delicate, budding emotions, unsure and unrequited and nothing more than a lonely wish whispered into the darkness of a bedroom. Answering as to whether or not he was having sex with his Officer was easy - answering whether or not he _wanted_ to was a little more difficult to dodge.

In truth, he did not mind Spock laying claim to him; the thought forced him to swallow thickly and he avoided McCoy’s half-hearted attempt to catch his eye. The idea of being Spock’s, and Spock’s alone, was a low-burning ember in the back of his mind that had long ago ignited and was now impossible to temper.

But Spock, being Spock, was enigmatic and unobtainable. He was a beacon of everything Jim desired and nothing he could have. It was like standing next to the sun and being blinded, but unable to look away, enjoying the warmth it afforded and Jim unfurled like leaves beneath Spock’s brightness, soaking up everything that was freely given to him - Jim swallowed again.

“Butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” McCoy said, mostly to himself, but he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared Jim down. “You’re in love with him.”

Jim startled, feeling like his blood had suddenly turned to ice. Love was not a topic he desired to explore - never. Love itself was something he never wanted to experience, that he actively avoided, both in giving and in receiving. Love crippled, was a weakness. Love was, in his experience, fleeting and only left destruction, loneliness, and hurt behind it in its wake. He’d seen what love did for his mother in the aftermath of his father’s death, what love did for a planet ravaged by famine, what love did to his own heart when left standing, abandoned by those who felt they could not return it. 

He felt like he was bearing down on an enemy he thought he had destroyed long ago, but somehow was very much alive and writhing before him. He had nothing to protect himself from the venom that threatened him. He knew, if he gave in, he would be totally consumed, chewed up, spit out, and left bleeding. But, there was no way to avoid it, he was trapped, cornered. He walked into this chasm unprepared; it was too late to turn back and flee. 

Then came the fear that crashed into him like a tidal wave, knocking him off balance and threatening to drag him beneath the surf. That might have been what happened, for a moment, only to get hauled back to the surface by McCoy firmly taking him by his shoulders and shaking him back to reality. 

“Whoa, kid, easy there.” Jim blinked back into focus and gripped McCoy’s shirt for anchorage, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “You going to be okay?”

“No,” he said, honestly, voice betraying the raw emotions still tumbling. “Maybe,” he stood straighter, forcing everything down; he imagined little tiny boxes, like the ones left in the attic of the house he grew up in. He threw lids onto the boxes and taped them shut, marked them, ‘never open’ and slid them into the back of his mind where he could do his best to ignore their existence. “Yes.” 

=//\\\=

Jim was wearing what could only be described as a wrap-around dress tunic.

Spock was surprised by this choice. He’d fashioned it from what looked to be traditional Mantodean robes, powder blue, and cinched closed at his waist with a gold-coloured belt. The wide, embroidered sleeves billowed as he gesticulated wildly. Perhaps, logically, lightness of the fabric and the deep V of the opening was to combat the stifling heat of the planet. The long and narrow conference room they had been led into shortly after breakfast, with wood-like paneled walls and windowless, did nothing but contain the heat that the primary star beat down upon the planet; the air inside was already rising to temperatures usually found uncomfortable to humans. Sweat was beading on Jim’s upper lip and sliding down down his temples, but he did not betray the discomfort he must have been experiencing as he sat forward in his chair, discussing quite animatedly with the Mantodean that sat across from him. 

Negotiations, while going smoothly given the planet had as much interest in joining the Federation as they had on accepting them, were slow and arduous. Translating was eating into much of the day as words and ideas were shared between the two groups and then repeated back to ensure understanding was achieved among such different languages. Lieutenant Uhura sat on the Captain’s other side, following the conversation closely and filling in when the communicators struggled to process certain alien sounds or to find a Mantodean equivalent for a particularly Terran expression - which was often. 

Nyota, too, was wearing a sand-coloured Mantodean robe, without the fancy embroidery found on the Captain’s. Spock had seen his own set of robes hanging in his room, but had opted to dress in his standard Science Blues - similarly to the red-shirt security personnel that were seated along the walls of the room on low benches. 

Jim claimed he was not good at the politicking that came along with his role as Captain of the Flagship Enterprise, but he was much better at it than he gave himself credit for - and likely enjoyed it much more than he let on.

His brow furrowed deeply as each thought conveyed returned miscommunicated or misunderstood, and he chewed on the end of his PADD’s stylus as he thought about a new approach to get his message across, or to understand what was said to him. His eyes lit up like blue suns when ideas were met with approval, understanding, affirmative, and he laughed in delight at each little ‘win’, as he would say, that was achieved throughout the day. 

He barely noticed when the midday meal was brought to him, accepting a glass of water without a second glance and downing it hurriedly before launching himself headlong back into describing what the Federation would expect from a planet in its ranks should trouble arise. He was having difficulty describing situations in which Upsilon VII may be called into action to aid any Federation-occupied space nearby. 

Several more hours of this passed, the primary star had settled low on the horizon when Spock placed a hand on the Captain’s elbow. 

“Captain,” Spock smoothly interjected while Jim’s communicator was struggling to find the Standard equivalent to what was just said to him. “Perhaps it would be best to recess and allow what has already transpired to settle. We have made much progress already.” He had tried several times to push a plate of uneaten food towards his Captain, though the only time he interacted with it was to absently fiddle with whatever he picked up before replacing it, uneaten, pushing the plate away while he focused on the conversations at hand. A slice of fruit, similar to an apple, had made it near his lips as he thought of a reply and Spock was momentarily pleased, but then it too was discarded when Jim thought of something to say and expressed it enthusiastically. 

Jim hummed at this and Nyota discretely translated what Spock had said to an alien council member sitting next to her. A murmur broke out across the table as those sitting in the room collectively became more aware of the hour. 

“We have been at this for great length,” Chancellor K’tahk said, their ornate headpiece jangling as they rose from their seat at the head at the table, “The First Serving has suggested a wise course of action; we shall retire and resume in the morning.” They raised one of their hands and a myriad of servants melted into existence from the recesses of the room to clear away the scattering of dishes across the table and collect belongings for their masters. Jim murmured a quiet thanks to the being that collected his plate of uneaten food, blue eyes following it quite longingly as it was taken from the table. 

“This one,” K’tahk continued, “called Ch’aal will escort you to your rooms. Should any further sustenance be required, please request from Ch’aal for arrangements.”

Ch’aal was shorter than the Chancellor K’tahk and much less adorned, with no jewlery about their head, but their wine-coloured robes with whorling embroidery and glittering beads marked them as a middle-class being of great importance. They bowed their head in greeting and motioned for the Captain and his people to follow them from the room. Spock waited until all those from the Enterprise had exited before taking up the rear, nodding once to K’tahk in a way of parting; they lifted their hand in a vague summarization of the Ta’al in response. 

Nyota found her way to Spock’s rooms shortly after he had eaten his dinner and he let her in without fuss. She had brought with her determination, a communicator, and a plethora of tools with which to take the device apart. 

“We need to get this working better - it is too slow going with my being the only reliable source of translation between us and them.”

“I am also familiar with the language,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow as she set herself up at the small wooden table and chairs in the corner of his space. He joined her in the only other seat, reaching for the communicator and inspecting it. 

She huffed a breath of air and rolled her eyes, “I feel I can increase efficiency by 25%.”

“I am suspicious of your math and suspect that is an arbitrary percentage.”

“So what if it is?” she snatched the device from his hands and cracked it open, “will you help me or not?” 

“Of course,” he reached for his PADD and flicked it to life, bringing up the crude beginnings of the Standard-Mantodean dictionary.

They worked together in near complete silence, already aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Spock had considered her a valuable partner while they were romantically involved, ever appreciative for her capable mind and her ability to understand how he thought and work alongside him. They made for a fearsome duo when given the opportunity to demonstrate it. He acknowledged a fleeting sense of loss for their romantic association before he banished it. While they worked well together, they clashed considerably as well. Their union worked well professionally, but there were hurdles too tall to surmount, in Nyota’s opinion, when it came to the intricacies of their relationship. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” Jim’s voice cut through the focused silence of the room like a lirpa through boiled tolik fruit. He ducked into the room and paused when he no doubt noticed Nyota sitting across from Spock, bent over her work.

“Not at all, Captain. Please, join us,” Spock did not bother looking up from the PADD, though he knew there was nowhere left to sit other than the bed, which Jim settled himself on after an additional moment of hesitation. 

“Spock,” Nyota passed him the broken-apart communicator, “I think I have it so it will accurately register those anterior mouth noises, but I can’t quite figure out how to get it to pick up those from the back of the throat, it’s almost like it is too low of a noise.”

“Perhaps if we raise the perception-”

“I thought of that, but we don’t want it to pick up and attempt to translate sounds that are not spoken.”

“Ah yes,” Spock sighed and leaned back in his chair with a creak, “ _human_ noises.” 

“What on earth are you two working on?” Spock looked to Jim, who had pulled off his boots and placed them neatly at the foot of Spock’s sleeping mat, and was now lounging on it, back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at his ankles. His hands were folded across his belly. He’d discarded the Mantodean robes and was dressed only in his Regulation blacks, his feet bare.

“We are attempting to enhance our communicators to better aid in negotiations,” Spock said. He passed the device to the Captain when he outstretched his hand in askance. 

“I see,” he mused, “this is quite clever.” He passed it back, but offered no further comment; Spock stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had any thoughts to share, but was holding them back until he was directly asked for his input. He had assumed Jim would freely share - but then Jim let his eyes fall shut and he settled further into Spock’s pillows. “Don’t let me disturb you - I was simply lonely for company.” Spock raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to Nyota.

Spock busied himself over the PADD running calculations for soundwaves that emanated unconsciously from humans in comparison to those made by Mantodean vocalizations. He was confident if he found that correct variance, he could successfully program the communicator to pick up the noises required for translation, and bypass those that were unintended - such as grumblings made by the belly when one was hungry. 

With several promising leads, there really was only one way to ascertain which could be the potential solution - he pushed his PADD towards Nyota and she took it, trading him for the communicator, scanning over his work and humming appreciatively. 

Soft snores soon started coming from the direction of the Captain. Nyota met his gaze over the table briefly, an amused smile pulling at her mouth, but she made no comment and returned to her work. Spock found himself thoroughly distracted. He kept glancing over, raking his eyes over Jim’s completely relaxed form. His mouth had slid open and his hands, still folded together, raised and lowered with his slow, even breathing. He'd seen Jim asleep before, but it never failed to fascinate him - to see a man that practically vibrated with energy while awake nearly completely still, at rest. It was as hard to look at for the beauty of it as it was to drag his eyes away. 

He considered how to approach a new issue that could now arise. He was disinclined to wake his Captain, who so rarely slept even on board his own ship, often plagued by work, insomnia, night terrors, or a combination of all three. These precious minutes, perhaps potentially hours, could be the only true rest he'd experience for several days… If he and Nyota continued to work quietly, and when she eventually left, provided she did so without disturbing the Captain, there was a 78.65% chance that he'd stay there the whole night. Spock could meditate in the chair he currently occupied and be just as fresh as he would be had he slept himself. Though, with Jim looking so soft in such an intimate setting, he wondered if he'd even be able to achieve the level of meditation required to recharge his proverbial batteries. 

He was also quite certain that he had now crossed and uncrossed the same set of wires several times over in the device cradled in his hands. He refocused and tried to recall if he required them crossed or - 

"Uncrossed," Nyota whispered and his gaze snapped up to meet hers. She smirked and pointedly looked at their Captain then back to him. "Am _I_ interrupting something?" 

"Not at all," Spock said quietly, disconnecting the two wires in the device in his hands. "And I suggest we refrain from further conversation." 

"Absolutely, that is logical," She said lightly, returning to her work and pointedly ignoring the exasperated brow that was raised in her direction. 

=//\\\=

Jim stepped out of the turbolift and onto the Science Deck with a fabricated air of belonging. He did not often find himself on this deck - this was Spock’s domain. He walked through the sterile white halls, only ducking his head into each lab he passed to see if it held the prize he was after, and moving along when he did not find it. 

He did find it eventually, in the Bio-Chem lab, laying on the floor under a console, fiddling with something. Certain his presence was known, he waited patiently, watching as Spock’s knee curled and he reached further into the recesses of the wiring he was wrapped up in. There were two other technicians in the room that he waved out silently, and they gently put down the tools they were holding and made for the exit. 

“We are not due for a break for another several hours,” Spock called, voice muffled. Jim swore he sensed a heavy, exasperated sigh when the Commander was only met with silence; Spock did not move from his spot. Instead, a hand emerged and groped around on the floor next to his hip, presumably for the pair of needle-nose pliers that were nearby, just out of his reach. Jim bent and passed him the tool, “thank you.” 

He watched the bottom half of his First as he continued to work and considered his options.

McCoy had gotten him thoroughly drunk the previous two nights and eventually coaxed Jim to talk about the feelings he adamantly shied away from. It was at the doctor’s insistence that he at least attempt to speak with Spock about what happened on Upsilon VII and try to clear the air between them. Especially since, in McCoy’s words, “the green-blooded elf is acting stranger than normal.” When prompted about this McCoy said he had reached out to the suddenly reclusive Vulcan regarding the events that had taken place on the planet and was met with a forwarded copy of the official report and nothing else. “He didn’t even sass me when I asked if he was sure that was all he needed to report.” 

Jim was reluctant to discuss it - clearly, Spock felt something strongly enough to warrant giving Jim a wide berth. Bringing it up before Spock was ready may only make matters worse.

“You’re pining after him like a whole damn forest, Jim,” McCoy had said, tipping the rest of his drink down his throat.

“I just miss him,” Jim had replied sullenly, chin in the palm of his hands as he considered his own drink, watching a bead of condensation slide down the glass.

The lab was very large and too empty without the presence of several technicians and officers surrounding consoles and conducting their experiments. It was disconcerting for the ship to be so quiet; he was curious how it would feel to stand on an empty bridge, but also did not want to have the memory of that, either. The Bridge was the heart of the ship, and the heart had his people. Standing alone and looking out at all the empty workstations felt like a bad omen. 

When he could not stand the silence any further he cleared his throat and delighted in Spock freezing - the Vulcan equivalent to jumping out of his own skin.

“I hear you are modifying my ship,” he said conversationally, and when Spock finally slid out from under the panel, he raised both eyebrows at him. 

“Improving, Captain,” Spock amended, rising smoothly to his feet and brushing invisible dust from his pants. “Everything is approved by Command. I uploaded the report the other night with the changes I had planned to employ.” 

“I saw," Jim mused, "I found them to be vague at best. But, Scotty noted that everything was above-board. However, you usually speak to me of these things before beginning to work on,” he waved his hands at the console, “whatever it is you are doing.”

“I am improving energy efficiency, Captain, by recalibrating the brightness of digital readout screens by 5%. I was not aware that I needed your approval for such minor adjustments. I assure you, this will bring our total energy usage down by 2.83%. This sounds minor, but will be a significant savings overall.” 

“You are lowering the brightness of the screens,” Jim said, leaning back against another console and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Affirmative,” a raised eyebrow, “that is what I said.”

Silence grew between them like a chasm and Jim’s breath hitched as he turned over what he wanted to say next - what could he say next? Finally, Spock was here in front of him and any speech he had prepared while he lay in bed staring at the darkness of his ceiling was suddenly flushed out of his mind and leaving nothing behind but empty static.

He wanted to ask about the distance suddenly between them - what did it mean? He wanted to tell Spock how it made him feel, how he mourned the time they spent together. He missed him so desperately, just seeing him now felt like a feast to a starving man. He dragged a hand down his face and considered spilling the truths he could barely admit to himself. Maybe Spock could make sense of the constriction in his chest when he thought about what would happen when their tour ended and they were potentially parted from each other for more than a handful of days. Maybe he would understand how his heart leapt into his throat when he received those soft, half-smiles reserved only for him. Maybe he would know how to soothe the way his hands shook after they touched, even briefly, and itched to find new ways to make contact. Maybe he would share the desire to press their lips together...

Instead of all this: “You’ve not returned my messages,” he said lamely, kicking the heel of his boot against the console behind him.

“My apologies, Captain, I was engrossed in my work - I did not find the time to reply to personal inquiries. If you would like, I can take a look at my schedule and find a time when we can meet?”

“So you can pencil me in?” Jim ground out, finally looking up and catching Spock’s eye. Anger surged. “See where I fit in your very busy life? I am not some fancy divertissement that can be discarded and picked up again so easily when the time suits - I am your Captain.” 

“Captain, I apologize if I have somehow been derelict in my duties. I was not aware that you required my attention as your First Officer at this time.” 

Jim threw his hands in the air and groaned, “No, you have been nothing but exemplary in your duties, Commander.” He did not try to unwind the bitterness from his tone and instead bolstered it, “you have gone above and beyond what is necessary. In fact, I find you to be lacking in just the opposite. We are on leave right now - not necessarily by choice or because it is required, but nevertheless. And yet, I find you toiling away on fabricated chores to keep yourself thoroughly occupied.”

“I do not follow - I am in no need of rest, as I believe you are suggesting. How else would you suggest I use my time, Captain?”

“With me!” Jim found his tone had reached a near-yell and when Spock’s eyes widened a fraction, he reined himself in. “Not - exclusively,” he sighed and counted his breaths until the hammering of his heart lessened, the desperation for closeness checked. “You used to spend some of your off-duty time with me and I am feeling a little bit lost as to why you are ignoring me now. Especially now,” he saw Spock was about to speak, so powered through before he could, “when now should be when we do spend time together - I can’t help but feel there is something here,” he motioned at the space between them, “that requires a discussion.” 

“Clarify.” was all Spock said, standing impossibly still, arms stiff at his sides. 

“You _claimed_ me as your mate, Spock.” 

“In an attempt to prevent you from finding yourself legally bound to an alien race that, I believe, you would not have joined yourself to, had you understood the parameters of what they were asking.” Spock folded his hands behind his back and was staring at a spot beyond Jim’s shoulder. 

“Is that _all_ , Spock?” Jim asked, taking half a step forward; he wanted to reach out to him, to grab him by the elbow, to touch skin to skin so his First could feel the turbulent emotions roiling in himself. Now that he was staring it down, he was certain that they were dancing around something obvious. Had Jim accidentally married any alien species, the Federation would have found a way to rescue him, to undo what he waltzed himself into with a saunter and charming smile. Possessive displays of ownership are not taught in Starfleet, and Jim trusted that Spock’s instincts were rooted so deeply in regulation, to do anything else would have to mean… _something_. “Is that all it was?”

“I am unsure as to what you are hoping for me to say,” Spock met his eye. “I saw no other options at the time. I was, as you might suggest, simply thinking on my feet.” 

Jim did not often find himself drawing upon regulation to make a point, and several popped into his mind all at once. Very quickly the rules of First Contact ripped themselves to the forefront of his memory, followed rapidly by those relating to conflict resolution and handling alien customs. He had several on the tip of his tongue, that he knew Spock must be startlingly aware of. And then, with that realization settling over him like a heavy blanket, the fight drained out of him. He let his shoulders relax and he exhaled the tension and dropped his head. 

“Alright,” Jim stepped back, “fine. I want your report on energy savings forwarded to me tomorrow morning by 0800 hours - I want to see your calculations.” He swallowed thickly and turned to leave. “Otherwise, good work. But, make sure you take a break before we ship out again.”

He left. 

=//\\\=

Being given a tour of what Spock assumed to be the planet’s governing buildings seemed to be an illogical move when they were so near the conclusion of their negotiations. The Mantodeans had all but agreed to all of the Federation’s stipulations for joining the UFP, making very few suggestions to their agreement - most being changes in wording to better suit their race more than any outright demands, which they could have made given the advantageous positioning of their homeworld and the proposed mining rights, which weighed heavily in the Federation’s favour. With little else left aside from signing documents, touring this planet’s architecture felt much like an enormous waste of time. 

He would have much preferred to explore the strange planet with what little time they had left on his own.

They were led across the concourse decorated with intricate gardens filled with plantlife the likes of which Spock had never glimpsed before. Broad, rounded, rubber-like leaves unfurled beneath the primary star, in the centers of which were delicate, spiny, aromatic flowers. Others, fern-like in appearance, shivered as they walked past, some as large as he was tall. Without closer inspection, he could not imagine the possibilities of what else occupied these gardens. His fingers itched for the tricorder not currently in his possession as he followed the procession onwards. He refrained from giving the gardens one last, longing look as they mounted a flight of wide, stone stairs at the base of a gleaming stone building. 

The inner hall was impressive, if the Captain’s soft exhale was anything to go by. The walls were lined with intricate tapestries depicting moments in the race’s history and, Spock surmised, their mythos. He watched as Jim wandered closer to these, the leaders of their gathering and their entourage also pausing to allow for perusal. 

The light from the tall, open-air windows caught in Jim’s hair as he leaned back to take in the scope of the artwork, humming appreciatively before slowly moving to the next. He made it part-way around the room before he paused for longer, observing a work that depicted a small group of Mantodeans. Spock allowed himself to approach, standing at Jim’s shoulder and watching the way his Captain’s eyes roamed the particular piece. 

“It always surprises me when I find similarities to humans in such alien species,” Jim said softly, glancing away to look at Spock briefly before returning his gaze back up. 

Spock tore his eyes away from Jim to take in the group of aliens stitched in bright colours hanging before him. The picture was of two larger aliens, surrounded by smaller - likely children - grouped together in a rather severe portrait. It was hard to discern whether any particular emotion was being displayed, given the lack of human-like mouth parts. The only indication of the relationship between the aliens could, perhaps, be shown in the joining of hands between the two larger Mantodeans in the background. He did not like to assume, but he excused the contravention at this moment, wondering if the concept of family was what drew Jim to this piece, as opposed to the depictions of god-like figures and conquest.

“These are mates,” Jim’s communicator translated at the low grumble and click that sounded from the approaching alien, Ch’aal. “They are K’efe and K’tehm, and their eldest offspring.”

“Are these prominent figures in your history?” Spock asked and waited for his question to be translated, maintaining eye contact with the being that had drawn up next to Jim’s other side.

“They are early leaders,” Ch’aal confirmed, “Some of the first. They both were great warriors and raised a brood of like-minded offspring that would lead our kind into victory against the enemy.” 

“Do many of your kind enjoy bonds such as this?” the Captain asked. 

The alien paused to consider their answer once it was translated to them. Instead of replying directly they instead said, “Are you curious about such practices?” 

“I am,” the Captain admitted, and Spock wondered at his expression, hidden from him by the turn of a head. The alien nodded and ushered them away from the tapestries.

They rejoined the group in the centre of the hall. Ch’aal said, “This one is interested in our joining practices.” 

“Is it your intention to offer your friendship, Captain?” Chancellor K’tahk asked, and at Jim’s baffled affirmative, a rousing of clicking murmurs rippled through the gathered alien. K’tahk regarded Jim now with their head tilted. “I have to admit I had not considered that.”

“The Federation offers friendship to all members that joins its forces,” Jim said, glancing at Uhura for clarification at the confusion that seemed to be descending over their group. She shrugged and nodded at him, in turn glancing at Spock who felt a coil of unease tighten in his belly.

Friendship was commonplace within the Federation - albeit, at times, admittedly loosely. All planets and species under the banner were friendly with each other, at least enough to maintain positive trade agreements and unhindered travel across all of Federation Space. While he was aware of some more tense relationships among a few of alien species, they also were not enemies. If they had miscommunicated the nature of their intent to this planet’s people, they may have unknowingly failed their mission. The aliens were amenable to everything the Federation had proposed, but perhaps they had missed some underlying social cue. To discover this, he would need time to meditate on all previous interactions throughout the past two days. 

There was a flurry of untranslatable discussion taking place among those gathered, the Security personnel from Starfleet began shifting uncomfortably, uneasy by the sudden change in atmosphere. Uhura shifted her weight from foot to foot, chewing on her bottom lip. Spock considered asking her about her take on the situation when three of the aliens broke away from the group, including Ch’aal, approached the Captain and circled him several times, inspecting him closely.

“I would happily accept the Captain’s gift,” Ch’aal said finally, turning to K’tahk, who nodded. 

“Captain,” they said, “do you extend the offer of your friendship to this one called Ch’aal?” 

Jim tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together in clear confusion. He glanced back at his Communications Officer once more. Nyota was considering the aliens grouping closing around them and slowly shook her head, but Jim pressed on before she could voice her opinion. “I would be a friend to any of your people,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, “but, I would be happy to consider Ch’aal to be a friend of mine and of the Federation.”

“These are strange circumstances,” K’tahk said, “I understand the presence of your Federation here is limited, and such ceremonies take time to prepare. If you are agreeable, we will return to the place of negotiation to take note of this arrangement.” 

Jim nodded and followed the group back out of the hall. 

A light touch on his elbow gave Spock pause, and he looked to see Nyota staring up at him. 

“I feel like I’ve missed something,” she admitted softly, “but I’m not sure what. I spent every hour afforded to us going over the reports from Starfleet before we got here…”

“I must admit to a sense of unease myself,” Spock began walking, trusting that Nyota would fall into step with him and maintain their quiet conversation. Ch’aal was walking close with Jim ahead of them, their heads bent together as Ch’aal pointed to several buildings they passed, no doubt explaining their significance. Jim smiled brightly, laughed easily, and otherwise pleasantly engaged in conversation with such capability Spock found himself wrestling to extinguish the flare of jealousy that surged. 

“I don’t recall there being any information on the significance of friendship,” Nyota continued, looping her hand easily into the bend of his elbow as they walked; he found he did not mind the simple intimacy. “It reminds me a bit of the Vulcan concept of T’hy’la,”

Spock glanced down at the top of her head, now wrestling with surprise. 

“Friend, brother, lover,” he murmured and looked back to Jim and Ch’aal, eyebrows pinching together. 

He, too, had poured over any information on this race and their culture that the Federation had gathered from the time of First Contact. There was little in the way of romantic relationships, but it was also noted that the Mantodeans did not place such significance on partners in the same way as humans - or vulcans. While it was noted that such arrangements did exist, how they came to be and the ceremonies surrounding them were largely unknown. This had not troubled Spock when reading the mission brief - both because much of his own culture was shrouded in mystery to outworlders, and because he had not considered a scenario when such information would be prudent to their current assignment.

He accepted the sense of worry that overcame him that perhaps he needed to readjust his mental approach to the events currently taking place.

“I suppose we will just have to wait and see what happens when we get back to the sauna,” Nyota sighed. 

They walked together in what Spock would consider companionable silence. He kept a close eye on the Captain, but otherwise allowed his eyes to wander the scenery that they strolled through once more. Rather than the plantlife, this time he noticed the abundance of small creatures that scurried into hiding at the passing of their feet. He felt fascination for the tiny, lizard-like creatures that darted among the gardens, with several more appendages and much longer tails that appeared to be prehensile as they climbed the shivering ferns and hid among the fronds. And, perched high on the sides of the buildings, was a myriad of colourful flying creatures, their bodies did not appear to be covered in feathers, but rather very thin, presumably light-weight skin. Their bony appendages stretched out to catch the light from the primary star on their wings, warming themselves. Their calls rang out, warbling and flute-like, echoing across the streets. These were the creatures that he could hear singing at first light each morning. He watched one dive off the side of a building, snap out its wings, and glide across to the side of another, clinging to the stonework and scurrying up the face of it until it disappeared over the pitch of the roof. 

“Oh, no, now I definitely am sure that there has been a miscommunication,” Nyota gripped at his elbow tight enough for it to hurt, but Spock barely took notice. His vision was tunneled onto Jim and Ch’aal and the rather intimate way that the alien was leaning into his Captain. 

He twist out of the Lieutenant’s grip and hurriedly marched himself towards Jim and Ch’aal. 

“Pardon me,” he said, inserting himself between the two and locking eyes with the alien, drawing himself to his full height - though remained a foot shorter. 

“Oh-” Ch’aal clicked, looking between Spock and Jim behind him, whose hand had come to rest on his shoulder, likely as a warning, but Spock felt emboldened by its warmth on his person. “Your First Serving takes bold action,” Ch’aal said, “is this customary on your planet? I confess, I do not understand his actions now.” 

“I am a little unsure myself,” Jim mused quietly, squeezing his shoulder, “you alright, Mr. Spock?”

“Jim,” Spock whirled around to face his Captain, “it has come to my attention that this alien intends to realize a romantic bond with you.” Blue eyes widened and then drifted to Ch’aal, then sought out Chancellor K’tahk. 

“I apologize for the Commander’s rather abrupt display,” Jim was saying, “but, I wonder if his realization is correct. Is there a significance to friendship among your culture?” 

“The one called Ch’aal accepted your offer, Captain, it is not usually customary for such a gift to be withdrawn simply because another being objects - especially one of lower social standing and no significance to a being such as yourself.” 

Spock could feel Jim bristle at the comment, and his face hardened into something fierce, though his tone remained veneered in calm. 

“Spock is not of a lower standing than myself - he is my equal,” his blue gaze darted back to Spock’s, “and very much not insignificant,” was said much too softly for the aliens to hear.

K’tahk blinked at this, “My apologies, Captain, we understood at your arrival that, while necessary to yourself and your ship, he reports to you as a subordinate - that your authority rules all others on the ship. To us, this elevates you above all other beings.” 

“Captain,” Uhura appeared at their side, “I wonder if perhaps the term friendship has another meaning on this planet.” She turned to the Chancellor and spoke their language hurriedly, Jim’s communicator translating, “friendship is a term used on our planet to convey platonic companionship, I fear that we have made an error in translation-” 

“Chancellor,” Ch’aal interrupted, “friendship was offered and accepted in front of witnesses, surely-” 

“I’m sure we can figure this out,” Jim said. 

“Please, allow me to apologize for this miscommunication,” Uhura pressed on. 

“Perhaps if we made our way back to the negotiating room, we can figure this out.” Jim again.

“-It would bring great dishonour for the bond to be broken so early,” Ch’aal.

Every being in the vicinity was talking at once, arguing over terminology and significance. The communicator clipped to Jim’s robe had given up trying to find meaning in the cacophony. Jim turned his back to Spock to speak directly with the Chancellor, who had moved several paces closer, looming over them, though their expression was not immediately threatening, Spock tensed.

“Myself and the Federation still offer friendship,” Jim was saying, his voice wavering somewhere between calm and panicked, and Ch’aal looked to him with an inclined head, moving closer also, extending a hand for Jim to take-

Spock grabbed Jim’s hand before he could accept the alien’s.

“I cannot allow another being to bond with this one called Jim Kirk,” his voice declared over the din, “in friendship or otherwise.”

“What gives you the right to challenge what your Captain has freely given?” K’takh asked calmly.

“He is my bondmate,” he ground out, pulling Jim closer to him so their bodies were flush. “I will not release him to another.” 

Spock’s words achieved the desired effect - all aliens nearby took several steps backwards and Ch’aal dropped their hand away; however, the roar or fury was not a reaction he had anticipated. His free hand reached for the phaser clipped to his belt, grasping it tightly but not drawing it out just yet.

“Your Captain would offer himself to another unfaithfully? To dishonour the line of Ch’aal? What is this Federation that would allow such indecency-” 

“The one called Kirk is not the highest authority if he is not his own to give away - is this one called Spock the Captain?”

“The Federation sent to us liars?”

“What else is a lie in this Federation?” 

The alien called Ch’aal approached suddenly, reaching for Jim as if to drive him away from Spock and he drew his phaser, the whine of its charge enough for Ch’aal to hesitate in his advance, head rearing back in alarm. 

“You would draw your weapon?” the alien hissed. 

“I am unaware of your intentions at this time,” Spock said logically, pulling Jim closer still. He would protect his Captain at all costs - from physical threats against his person, to those against his emotional well-being - marriage ceremonies for political reasoning among them. 

“Captain,” Uhura’s voice was like a salve over a blister in the confusion, “I wonder if it might be best for us to make our exit.”

“Yes,” Jim breathed, “you might be right, Lieutenant,” He turned in Spock’s grasp, sliding his hands up his arms. “Spock-” He blinked several times, but did not look down at his Captain as threats still circled them. 

“We must go,” Spock acknowledged. With their hands still clasped, he led his Captain back through the streets and away from the still escalating fury. K’tahk was trying to reason with the agitated aliens, barely containing their own confusion. He heard the boots of their own security personnel thundering after them, phasers also drawn in ready, waiting to follow Spock’s lead. He heard Jim pull out his Communicator, hailing the Enterprise nearby in orbit, ordering a beam up for the landing party as soon as technicians were ready. 

He could feel the confusion pouring off Jim in waves through their contact. Beneath the thick uncertainty for the situation at hand, nearly over-shadowed, Spock felt a vein of anger curling around something else, trembling - Spock released his hand and stopped short. 

What had he done?

“Captain, I-” 

“Spock,” Jim sighed, leaning into the space between them. “I’m sorry - I know you wanted to get out there and take a closer look at those rocks…” 

The world faded away into light as they were beamed back to the ship. 

=//\\\=

Spock's report on shipwide energy usage and savings pinged Jim's PADD to life at 0659. It was painfully lengthy and obsessively detailed. A second message came through at 0703 from Spock, detailing his plans to reconfigure the automatic lighting systems to shut off approximately 0.35 seconds sooner - should the Captain be amenable and provided they had the time still at dock before they shipped out again. Jim had half a mind to reject his request, but Spock had very cleverly included a notation from Scotty that supported this seemingly insignificant change. 

Then, at 0724 Jim's PADD lit up again with a breaking news bulletin. 

News of the USS Ambition’s success on the planet Upsilon VII traveled like an uncontained wildfire. Hot on its tails were rumours surrounding the details of the USS Enterprise’s failed attempt at the very same mission. The most troubling were the ones proclaiming fairytale-esque declarations of love. With them, smatterings of those shocked to discover that Vulcans experienced amorous emotions, that Jim was officially off-the-market, and that, at long last, their romance was confirmed by a secret marriage ceremony that took place on the newest Federation planet.

After spending entirely too much time reading headlines and digging further, he found the one that caused ice to lance through him like phaser fire.

‘ _Results of Romance: Restructuring of the Flagship Command Team?_ ’ 

He opened the article.

‘ _If the rumours are indeed true_ ,’ Jim read, ‘ _and the USS Enterprise’s fast-and-loose Captain and ever-stoic First Officer are indeed participating in a salacious affair, you have to wonder how this may in the future, or may have already, emotionally compromised their command decisions. Emotional entanglements are notoriously messy - and one would not have to dig very far into the history of Captain James T. Kirk to understand why this might end very badly for the Enterprise and her crew._ ’ 

Would Starfleet Command PR step in and save him from this, or would this finally be the scandal that they left him to stew in that he'd cooked for himself? 

He could already imagine the lines of questioning he and Spock would likely face if the Intergalactic Tabloids took this idea and ran with it…

It was easy to laugh off rumours that they were sleeping together, they never were, but questioning whether or not he had an affection beyond friendship for his First Officer was not something he was certain he had the energy to lie about anymore - to himself or the public. 

" _When did this all begin?_ " 

Their association, as Spock would say, began at Starfleet Academy when Jim beat the Kobayashi Maru. Their emotional entanglement began when Spock nearly choked him out against a console on the Bridge. Warm regard began after Nero, and mere friendship died with Jim in the engine room, hands pressed against the glass. And then something very fragile happened when Spock was suddenly there, reaching for Jim and hauling him up and away from the vacuum of space. 

What would he do without Spock? 

He almost could not bear himself to look at the article further, but it pulled at him with a ferocity he was powerless to resist. 

‘ _While there are no official regulations that prevent a Captain from entering into a romantic liaison with anyone aboard their ship, it is generally advisable to avoid such entanglements at the risk of crew disintegration. The nature of the missions assigned to the Enterprise are often delicate and emotionally compromised leadership could result in further blunders worse than what took place on Upsilon VII. Romantic tension is an unnecessary strain on the Bridge, and claiming possession of one’s Captain does not come from mere professional regard, and if not reciprocated, further stress could be what lands the Enterprise into a much more dangerous position. With Commander Spock resigning his position--_ ’

Jim dropped his PADD.

Normally, he would be inclined to believe the story was hearsay, but with so much printed that was not strictly misinformation… 

Could that be why Spock had been avoiding him? He was leaving the Enterprise? When had he made this decision? Why had he not said anything?

He stood from his desk, his chair clattering to the floor behind him; his heart was racing. 

He needed to speak with Spock. If not about what happened on Upsilon VII, then at least to achieve clarity in this - this terrible thing that could be true. He wouldn’t allow it - he would have to find a way to convince him to stay. Jim could change, he could rein himself in and correct his emotions that have no doubt been bleeding out and - affecting his First Officer - emotional transference and all that. He must have been so unaware of his loud, human feelings that Spock had been picking up on them and reacting in kind.

He looked at the time and considered whether or not Spock would still be working aboard the Enterprise. As he was still not responding to any messages outside of direct command from a Captain, that was his only option to try. 

He spun and marched for his door, wrenching it open before he could change his mind and-

Spock was standing there, hand raised to chime the bell. 

"Captain," he said without preamble, "I regret that I must offer my resignation." 

"What?!" No! 

"Please, allow me to continue. I admit to some… difficulty vocalizing my thoughts in regards to an issue that has recently been brought to the forefront of my attention." Spock all but pressed Jim back into his room and the door slid shut behind him. Jim bit the inside of his cheek to keep at bay the torrent of comments that were fighting to escape. With no additional words forthcoming, Spock continued. "My lack of forethought and consideration has gone without ramifications when the consequences could have been dire. I acknowledge that I have benefited from this lapse in judgement, but now wish to subject myself to your full authority for proper repercussions. My careless behaviour can no longer remain unchecked, as it has put you and the crew of the Enterprise at great risk.”

“What-” Spock raised a hand and Jim bit down once more on his tongue. 

“Captain, it seems that I have been emotionally compromised and I am no longer fit for duty aboard your ship.”

“Unfit for duty within all of Starfleet, or just my ship?” 

“The nature of my transgressions lead me to believe that I am merely unfit to serve aboard the flagship USS Enterprise and under your direct command. However, I may return to New Vulcan for further introspection and guidance.” 

“What… I don’t understand,” Jim swallowed thickly, “how have you been emotionally compromised, Commander?” The article swirled in his mind - romantic tension on the Bridge and the possibilities of what that could mean.

Spock fixed him with a look that froze him entirely - a photon torpedo could be aimed directly at him and he would be powerless to move out of its way. With incredible ease and an even voice Spock said, “I have developed romantic emotions towards you, Captain.” Jim’s knees turned to jelly. 

In fact, he did stumble forward, blindly grasping at the front of Spock’s uniform in order to keep himself upright. Spock immediately moved to steady him, one hand on his elbow and the other pressed into his side just under his ribs. 

“Spock, you - you’re saying that-” he looked up, desperately, searching his face for any hint of a malicious joke or some lie he’s conjured. “If you are saying this simply because you wish to leave the service, or if I have done something, anything to-” 

“Captain-”

“If it’s because you saw that article - you said you were not worried about what the tabloids would print if they got wind of the mission. You said that worry was not-”

“Captain,” Spock’s hands ensured he would remain upright and then very slowly pulled away; Jim clutched harder at the uniform beneath his grasp. “Vulcan’s cannot lie, and it would be illogical to assume that I could otherwise attempt to deceive you by using my own emotions.” 

“Your emotions…” Jim said weakly, “Spock, you _must_ know that I…” the words lodged themselves into his throat - that he what? That he felt romantically inclined towards his First Officer in return? That did not seem to be a very romantic way of putting it, but the L-word frightened him almost as much as the thought of losing Spock did. That fateful word might be the thing that drives them entirely apart if he were to admit it now, desperately clinging to the man he did not care to serve without. “You cannot leave-”

There had been instances of starship command teams being romantically involved, and successfully, in the past. No examples were coming to mind in this moment, not with Spock in such close proximity. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was hammering in panic. But if his feelings were returned, then any tensions on the Bridge need not be an issue-

Spock seemed to sense his emotional turmoil and very slowly those hands that helped right him inched forward, achingly slow, until one grasped firmly at his shoulder and the other was cool fingertips ghosting across the skin of Jim’s neck until it cradled the back of Jim’s skull. His breath caught somewhere behind his sternum. Spock’s eyes widened a fraction as he was no doubt assaulted by a wave of very human problematic emotionality, enough to dismantle even the strongest of Vulcan sensibilities.

“Oh,” Spock exhaled and Jim leaned forward, further into his space, “I feel that I have neglected to take into account your own response to this confession.” 

“No shit?” Jim asked, his voice coming out little more than a breathless whisper. 

“I was without sufficient data.” Spock arched a brow and Jim would have laughed if he didn’t feel so much like his entire world just got ripped out from under his feet, like his hammering heart had just run a marathon across the entirety of the Starbase twice over.. 

“Spock, I feel,” he tried again, then lost his train of thought. “I refuse to acknowledge your resignation.”

“Indeed?” 

He needed to get out the fact that he felt the same - but the words were stuck, they would not come, and the panic that his mouth refused to obey his direct command was gripping at him so tightly he felt dizzy with it. ‘ _I, too, have been emotionally compromised!_ ’ He wanted to say it so desperately. The anger at his own inability to discuss his emotions choked him further. Spock began to pull away and he recalled, belatedly, the existence of touch-telepathy, and panic coursed through him even stronger than before. 

If he could not speak, then taking action was his only option. His tongue would not listen, but his hands were still responsive. He released Spock’s uniform and reached up to cup either side of his face, he drew himself up, and pressed their lips together. He considered attempting to force all other thoughts from his brain so that he would not be sending mixed-messages across the psychic link that was no doubt strung taut between them now - but Spock’s mouth responded to his own and his brain emptied of its own accord.

The slide of their lips was the only thing that existed in the world for several moments; then a tongue, hesitant and probing introduced itself and Jim opened up to it with a soft intake of breath. His hands slid further up the side of Spock’s face and tangled in his air and he became aware of its silky texture between his fingers. Spock’s own hands slid around his waist and up his back, pulling them flush together. Jim became distantly aware that his heart was hammering against Spock’s chest, and he could feel the thunderous reply against his side. Jim tilted his head and sucked at Spock’s bottom lip and was delighted to be introduced to the broken-off moan that the action elicited. 

“Captain,” Spock murmured against his mouth, “Jim,” a breath and he was pulling away a fraction, pressing their foreheads together, “I retract my resignation; however, if you insist on offering yourself to be the companion of another being, human or otherwise, I fear that I will be otherwise forced to reinstate it.” 

Jim laughed. 

“Furthermore,” Spock kissed him lightly, briefly, “I request a change in the definition and parameters of our association to reflect current,” another kiss, “revelations.” 

Still quite unable to speak, Jim nodded, and leaned in for another kiss.

=//\\\=

Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Self-proclaimed charming bastard, casual flirt to anyone he met, and entirely smitten by his First Officer who was rumoured to occasionally smile at his jokes.

He leaned into one emotional connection, on which he built many future plans and considered himself to be thoroughly tied down. He remained married to the Federation, Starfleet, the Mission, his ship, but considered the potential of marrying only one member of his crew. That ship he mentioned? She was still the jealous type - but concessions could be made.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm quite proud of how this turned out. There was so much more I could say, and I have many more thoughts in my head, but I didn't want to over-extend my abilities for what I had planned to be a one-shot. Perhaps I will write more as a series...
> 
> Comments give me great joy!


End file.
